Letters to Wayne
by NowhereBLVD
Summary: The first part of a story that I am working on about a girl who writes letters to her father, as if he can actually hear her.


6/30/11

Dear Wayne,

I don't think you realize what you've done to this family. At first, I thought that you'd ruined it. That is not the case. In actuality, it's not what you've done to this family, it's what you've done for this family. You see, father, every single one of us were afraid of you. Now, as I type this, I realize that because you have done what you have done we are stronger and closer than we ever have been.

Things haven't always been shaky between us, you know. We were best friends, you and I. When I was younger, I told you everything. I told you how I really felt along with the little trivial things that a five year old girl thinks is the worst thing in the world. I remember you lifting me up and putting me on the ceiling, so that I could be Supergirl. I remember wrestling with you—you'd always let me win, and I would always feel accomplished. I remember that one day in the winter. You, Lauren and I had a snowball fight in the clearing by your house. I remember everything about that hour. How the snow crunched beneath my feet as I tried to run away, it was so cold, and yet, I couldn't bring myself to stand. I was numb from both happiness and the freezing snow that surrounded me. I know that I could only lay in the snow by the fence and laugh, because you and Lauren were really getting into the fight. I would go back to that hour if I had a time machine. I would go back and relive every single amazing moment, because I miss the way things were then. As much as it pains me to say this, I miss you. I remember a lot of good things about you—more than I probably should have. You see, it's these memories that kill me every day.

I'd never expected you to tell me everything about your life—your past. You used to tell me funny stories of your youth, so many that they should be published in a book. I think I might do that one day. If only for the memories. Those stories saved me from the boredom that was the hour and a half drive from mom's house to yours. As funny as it may sound, I'd give anything to listen to you retell the stories of your youth so that I could drift away into a universe that was created for the purpose of laughter. There were somethings that I shouldn't have known though. Some things shouldn't be told to a five year old. For a while, you kept the bulk of these things to yourself, locked up in your secret vault. Four years later, when I was nine, things changed. You decided to tell me more things about yourself—things that a nine year old girl didn't need to learn. I didn't need to know how much hate you carried for the world around you, that loathing that was directed at your ex wives, your brothers, and even your mother, should have been avoided at all costs. I can only speculate what you'd felt for your father. Abandonment and betrayal come to mind. Although, you always seem a little distant when you talk about him. I wonder if there are any stories that you haven't told me? I know that you should have never told me how much you hated my mother—how much you thought she needed to suffer. A nine year old girl needs her mother, she doesn't need to hear those awful things, and yet you told me anyway. You told me these thoughts whenever I would visit you and it still hurts me to this day. It hurts me to know what you thought of her—what you think of her.

On some level I've always known that you were capable of such horrible things, I never knew the magnitude of your anger. If I would have known things would be different—I would be different. I would have confronted you on that day on the rope swing at lake Keowee if I had known what you really meant. I would have talked to mom sooner, and I wouldn't have waited for your not-so-stifled anger to explode and harm those that I love. I would have cherished your good moods more and I would have talked to Ms. Colleen about everything that was on my mind, because I know now that—in the grand scheme of things—she wasn't in the picture for very long, but she has had a lasting impact on the woman that I am today. To be honest, I miss her. I miss the way she would straighten you out whenever your temper flared. I've realized now that whenever your temper got the best of you, we, your family, the people that you're supposed to love, got the worst.

I often wonder what went through your head when you did what you did. I wonder if mom would have ever told me what you did to her if you hadn't have done what you had done last summer. I wonder if you have the same nightmares that I have. I don't know if you will ever find peace with yourself, but I hope that you do. I hope that you change for the better. I really, truly do. Although, I know that I will never be around to see that because you are so set in your ways.

I've never been given the chance to be honest with you, and I know that you will never, ever read this, but I need some closure. I need something to make me feel better, because these past 16 years have made me feel like complete and utter crap. Your snide comments about my weight and my health issues have always hurt me more than I care to admit. I hate how you always compare me to Lauren and Sarah. I hate that you've completely dropped Ashleigh, like she's not important. How a father could just magically forget after 18 years that he has a daughter because he doesn't agree with her decisions is beyond me, and it hurts me to know that you are a part of me—that you are half of my being. It shakes me to my core to think that I could pass on these traits to my future children, and I completely respect Sarah's decision to have nothing to do with you and to keep her children as far away from you as possible. It's sad, really, that they won't see the good in you. I know that the good aspects of you are still there. They are just clouded by the bottle. You will never admit it—not even to yourself—but, you are an alcoholic. All those years of drinking while driving, while watching TV, while eating dinner, when you first wake up in the morning, have taken their toll on your brain and your sanity, not to mention your liver.

I don't want you to leave me, because when it comes down to it, I'm just a little girl who needs her father. I know it's completely selfish, but I need that strong person in my life—the one that speaks little and thinks so much. I need you there for me. I need you to walk me down the isle, although I know that my ideal wedding will never happen. Sometimes, late at night, I wonder what my wedding—although the actual wedding won't happen for a long time—would have been like if your anger hadn't erupted. I wonder what song would be chosen for our father-daughter dance. I wonder how you will look all dressed up and I wonder who will be there. Then, reality sets in and I realize that none of the people that I call family will come to my wedding if they know that you are going to be there. I realize that you will spend most of the night at the bar, and you will become drunk and your words will neither make sense nor be sincere. I realize that if my dream wedding were to happen that you could not be there and it breaks my heart.

It pains me to admit that I am broken, and I will be for a long time. I hold people at a distance and I find comfort in music, television and books all because of your inconsistency. I remember way too many things about my past, and these memories have caused me to doubt myself and those that I wish that I could trust myself to care about. I want you to know that you have both broken me and made me stronger in ways that I will never comprehend.

Please know that I love you and some twisted part of me always will. I just can't live with your decisions. I know that you came to pick Lauren and me up to take us to your house for a few weeks and we weren't home. I saw your name on my phone at breakfast and I didn't answer. I couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. I couldn't bring myself to tell you what I'm writing now. Why? Because I don't want to shake the few good moments with you from my memory forever. I know that you will never talk to or see me again. That thought makes me cry, but I need to realize that you are never coming back. I'm crying as I type this little girl needs her father.

I love you more than I can ever admit.

Your daughter, Leah.


End file.
